“If you think I’m gonna hurt either one of you, then you really don’t know me at all, do you?”

“And whose fault is that?” she asked, still pointing her gun at him. When he didn’t answer, she gave him a sharp nod. “Little early in the day to be givin’ her that car repair estimate.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Well, she’s about to head home with me, so you can talk to her tomorrow during business hours.” She motioned toward the back door with her weapon. “Now get along.”

He turned to look at me as though searching my face for something, but I had no idea what. Maybe he really did think I’d killed Seth.

Finally, he pushed out a breath of frustration and took another step backward. “I’ll be back to talk to you after the lunch rush.”

“I’m hopin’ you’ll have an estimate for me by then so I can get the hell out of here,” I snapped back, even though I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

Unless I ran for it.

Could I? The thought filled me with equal parts relief and fear.

Even with a new identity, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, yet I was terrified I’d landed in a mess big enough to attract the exact wrong kind of attention. What if someone from the sheriff’s office had found my gun and key fob and considered me a suspect? I really needed advice from my friends back in Arkansas, but first I had to find someplace in this godforsaken town that had cell service.

Wyatt continued backing up until he reached the end of the counter. With one final look I struggled to define, he turned around and strode out the back. As soon as we heard the thud of the heavy metal back door, Ruth said, “What the hell was that about?”

“I have no idea,” I said, resting my forearms on the counter and leaning forward. This night was going from bad to worse. I nearly confided everything to Ruth, but something told me that would be a mistake. She wasn’t Rose, and this town was clearly messed up. I decided to change the subject to one that wasn’t much more pleasant. “Who’s gonna tell Seth’s grandfather?”

Based on the way she flinched, I’d caught her off guard. “I guess a sheriff’s deputy. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I’d like to see him.” That surprised her even more, so to avoid suspicion, I said, “Seth was still alive when I found him. I just think his grandfather might want to know about his last moments.” I paused, then pushed past the lump in my throat. “I know I would.”

Her face crumpled and tears filled her eyes. “I would too. How about I take you down there before you start your lunch shift? I was planning to go to Greeneville anyway. I just planned to do it later in the day.”

“I don’t want to put you out, Ruth.”

“No worries,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Like I said, I’m goin’ anyway. I’ll just go earlier than I’d planned.”

I didn’t have a coat, but I assured Ruth I didn’t need one. Max must have told her I didn’t have shoes, because she’d brought me a pair of open-back slippers in case my feet were bigger than hers. (I was a half size smaller.) I followed her out to the parking lot, light snow crunching under our feet, and Ruth led me toward an old sedan that was as big as a tank. I walked around to the passenger side. I’d never seen a car this big in person.

“The door sticks,” she said as I reached for the handle.

She was right. It took me three tries and finally a hard yank to get it open. The door sagged and it took me several more attempts to get it closed.

“I keep nagging Franklin to fix it, but he claims there’s nothin’ to be done.”

“It’s not a problem,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself as I shivered.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she said with a laugh, inserting a huge key into the ignition and turning the engine over. “It’s a beast of a car, but the engine gets hot fast in the winter.” She glanced over at me with a huge grin. “And I can tell all my friends I drive a Cadillac…even if it’s from 1973.”

“At least it runs,” I said with a chuckle. “It’s more than I’ve got.”

She laughed again. “True enough.”

After she let the engine idle for a few seconds, she backed up and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Ruth, you have no idea how much I appreciate you coming in after Max called you,” I said. “And bringing me home on top of that?” I shook my head. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Ruth shook her head. “You’ve already done plenty. You saved my ass tonight with the Monday Night Football crowd, and you’re fun to boot. Givin’ you a place to crash is nothin’.” She cast a glance my way. “Tell me you were usin’ my sheets before you were woke up.”

“I was,” I said, leaning my head back into the velour seat back. “They were heavenly.”

“Don’t you worry. I have ’em on my guest bed too. You’ll be able to sleep like a baby.”

I wasn’t sure how much I’d sleep, but at least I’d be lying on soft sheets.

We were quiet for the rest of the fifteen-minute drive. It was dark, so I couldn’t make out much other than we were surrounded by trees. She turned from the two-lane road onto a narrow paved road and took another turn onto a gravel road about five minutes later, pulling up to a clear patch of earth with a mobile home that looked only slightly newer than her car. A newer dark green pickup truck was parked in front of it.

“At least Franklin’s home,” she said, sounding relieved.

“Does he work the night shift?” I asked.

“No, he was hanging out at his friend’s house after he left Max’s. He wasn’t home yet when Max called.”

I focused my attention on the trailer ahead of us.

“I know it ain’t much,” Ruth said, sounding embarrassed.

“It’s the heart of the home that counts,” I said, “not the contents.”

She pulled to a stop next to the truck and shifted the large gear shift into park before turning to face me. Her face brightened. “You know what? You’re exactly right.”

“My mom used to tell me that,” I said, still hearing her murmur the words into my ear as she held me on her lap. I’d been too old to be cradled like that—around eight or nine—but she and my father had just had a knock-down, drag-out argument that had scared me. It was the first time they’d ever fought so brutally, and I’d hidden in the closet so they wouldn’t be able to find me. Only my mother had come looking. “Oh, Carly,” she’d said, pulling me to her, “don’t you worry. We’ll always have each other. You and me, we’re the heart of this home.”

If only it had been true.

“She sounds like a wise woman,” Ruth said, letting the engine idle. “Do you want to call her? I’ve got a workin’ landline.”

My mouth lifted into a tight smile. “Thanks for the offer, but she died when I was a kid.” That didn’t fit Charlene Moore’s purchased narrative, but my heart was too raw to pretend the mother whose death had destroyed me could be reached by a simple phone call. And I didn’t want to lie to Ruth any more than necessary.